


i've got someone else in mind

by blueinkedbones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boyd is very confused, Derek's a good guy but a terrible Alpha, Erica has all the answers, F/M, Jealous!Stiles, M/M, Teen Wolf Fan Fiction Contest, about Stiles, emotionally constipated!Derek, frustrated!Erica, it's awkward, oblivious!Stiles, the Betas get Derek's dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueinkedbones/pseuds/blueinkedbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's just a mutual thing we have going on!" Stiles argues. "Like an unspoken arrangement, you know?"</p><p>Erica is generally smug at him. Stiles slumps.</p><p>"Of love, you're saying. We have an unspoken arrangement <em>of love</em>, and it's so unspoken neither of us <em>knows</em> about it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got someone else in mind

Erica's not bitter. She's not.

She's resigned.

Because of course Derek Hale, Headfucker Supreme, pushes Erica's perfect new sex on a stick (it's not arrogance, it's fact) body halfway across the room for kissing him. Because Derek is sex on a stick too, of course. And it only makes sense that gorgeous people need to be together.

But he looks at her, and he sees the fifteen year old freak who pissed herself on home video.

 _I have someone else in mind for you,_ he says, and Erica wonders who Seizure Girl gets paired up with in Derek's cranky little brain.

Just because he's gorgeous doesn't mean she likes him. Doesn't mean he's smart, or even a little bit useful.

She wanted the goddamn bite. She wanted a change. She got change.

And the world's most incompetent Alpha.

She used to dream of goofy grins and wide, open-mouthed laughter that took over your whole body. Buzz cuts and birthmarks and an easy arm around her shoulders. So Derek? Not really her type. So he can fuck off. He can just fuck off with his _someone else in mind for you._

She's not Seizure Girl anymore. She's sex on a fucking stick.

She's not bitter.

 

Stiles is bitter. Erica knows this because she knows every expression that has ever crossed his perfect face, because she used to be pathetic and watch him, and he used to be oblivious and never once noticed her.

He notices her now.

He takes a seat across from her at the otherwise deserted lunch table and pulls out his sandwich.

God, he even unfolds tuna (Ugh. Erica hated the smell as a human. As a wolf she loathes it) from Saran wrap bitterly.

He's bitter, with a touch of tired, a hint of jealous.

It's kind of nice.

"So. You and Derek," he says, like Erica didn't get kicked to the curb in fifteen seconds. He must've caught just the right moment, where Derek forgot she was fifteen, forgot she was Seizure Girl, and kissed back. "That's fun, that's... yeah, no, that's great, for you. And for all of us! He could use a little Adam and Eve style. Y'know. Getting to know, in the biblical sense. Fornication is what I'm saying. Intercourse. Sex. Sexytimes. Maybe he'll chill out now. Leave the brooding by the door. Which we can all appreciate. So. Yeah. Thanks for taking one for the team, sister." He tries for an awkward shoulder pat, touches boob, and sputters into an explosion of "Whoa, accident, total accident, not makin' a move, no moves meant, oh my god," that would almost be insulting if Erica's mind wasn't whirring away at new information. She's never been the top of her class, but this is nearing Captain Obvious levels of freakish.

"Why not?" she asks. She gets to ask now. All those long, pathetic years of waiting, she knew the answer. Now she gets to ask. It's not her dreams coming true, but it's a step-up from the gutter, and she can appreciate it.

"—shoulder, I swear—What?"

"Why," she repeats, slowly and clearly, like he's an idiot (another plus, she can actually talk down to him now, like she's freaking Regina George, and he still listens), "Not."

"Uh..." he says, mouth popped slightly open. (She used to love that, how he never shut his mouth, always kept it wide and round and god, he kept licking his lips and—but _things have changed_. Obviously.) He clearly has no idea what she's talking about. Erica rolls her eyes. What is it about her new look that makes boys (and men, but _ew_ ) lose even simple communication skills? "Why not what?"

"Get a hold of yourself," she says, snapping from I Could Have You Right Now to Erica Reyes, Pissed Off At Life. "Why aren't you making a move? I've got everything you could want."

"Right," Stiles says, palm rising to cap the back of his head, a nervous habit of his. "Uh, you're... great, really, but—"

"You've got someone else in mind," Erica finishes.

"Um, yeah. Kind of," Stiles says. "Um. It's a little... unreciprocated, at the moment, but—"

"He'll come around," Erica says, and Stiles grows a crooked grin and says, "You think?" before backtracking. "Wait, wait, what? Lydia. Lydia's who I meant. Who are you talking about?"

 _Boys_. Sometimes it's amazing they work up enough brainpower to feed themselves. "Derek, obviously."

"I'm not waiting for Derek!" Stiles squeaks. Yeah, there's a convincing protest. "I'm not doing anything for Derek," Stiles says, managing to keep his voice at an decibel audible to humans this time. "Why would you even—What do you mean, 'He'll come around'?"

Erica snorts.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Stiles shrieks, face going pink. "Oh my god. I'm just curious, y'know? What you meant. I'm a curious guy. With curiosity about—"

"The love of your life, sure," Erica finishes smugly. Stiles chokes.

"Derek is not _the love of my life_."

"'I did not have sexual relations with that woman,'" Erica retorts. It's a terrible impression. Apparently being a werewolf doesn't fix everything.

"Okay," Stiles says, eyebrows high, cheeks full, lips pursed. He's seconds from losing it completely.

"Shut up," Erica snaps, already pretending that moment never happened. "You're clearly in love with each other, but fine. Don't let fact get in the way of the unshakable relationship between your hand and your dick."

"Huh—Whoa, okay, _what do you mean,_ _in love with each other?_ "

Erica sighs. "Stiles, when a Mommy and Daddy werewolf love each other very much—"

Stiles groans, plants a hand over his eyes.

"—they give each other a special werewolf hug and Werewolf Jesus gives them a baby. And then Mommy and Daddy burn to death in a fire, and Baby Werewolf blames himself and becomes emotionally constipated as fuck. And then Baby werewolf becomes an Alpha, and he's crap at it—"

"Hey!" Stiles protests, looking offended, then blushes. "I just mean, give him a break. He's new at—Yeah, no, I see your point."

"And then Alpha Baby Werewolf falls in love with a sixteen year old who never shuts up and won't stop lying about his feelings, and guess what Alpha Baby Werewolf Casanova does about it?"

"Um. Nothing?"

"Give the man a prize," Erica says snootily. "Except the thing is, Alpha Baby Werewolf Casanova—"

"Okay, seriously?" Stiles says. "Can we call him, I don't know, _anything else_? Because I'm starting to feel like a pedophile."

"Except the thing is, Derek Hale can't help himself. He gets territorial. Possessive. It's his wolf side. Base instinct. You can't guilt that away."

"Yeah, you keep saying he blames himself," Stiles interrupts, "but he didn't—"

" _Kate Argent was his girlfriend_ ," Erica snarls. "He was her teenaged gigolo. Pack memory," she answers Stiles' question before he can jump in again. "It's not fun."

"Oh," Stiles says, after a long while of gaping, mouth flapping like a dying fish, opening like he's gonna say something and then clamming shut again. "Oh my god. That _bitch_."

"But Derek Hale is getting touchy," Erica goes on, bored of the Poor Little Baby Alpha subplot Stiles has got going. "Pushy. Putting his hands all over a certain teenager."

"Okay, come on. That wasn't—Those were angry hands. Bossy hands. 'I Alpha werewolf, you giant pain in my ass' hands. There was no... anything else. I would _know_."

"Obviously," Erica says sarcastically. "Because you're so good at picking up signals."

"And you're basing this on—what, exactly?"

"Oh I don't know, Stiles," Erica says slowly. "He goes to you for help. He keeps touching you. He puts himself in danger to save your life."

"That's just a mutual thing we have going on!" Stiles argues. "Like an unspoken arrangement, you know?"

Erica is generally smug at him. Stiles slumps.

"Of love, you're saying. We have an unspoken arrangement _of love_ , and it's so unspoken neither of us _knows_ about it."

"Oh, he knows about it," Erica says. "I didn't even realize until pretty recently. When I kissed him."

"Great," Stiles grouches. "Back to that. Elaborate, please. I need details. It's not eating me up inside with jealousy at all."

"When I kissed him," Erica continues, "and he kissed me back, and his scent changed. Got a little bit... darker. Spicier."

"Oh my God, Erica, that was sarcasm," Stiles moans. "I do not, really, truly do not need this information."

"And then his Big Boy Brain kicked in, and he threw me across the room," Erica says.

"Wait, what?"

"But the thing is," Erica says, "Before that, he saw you. Lurking in the doorway like a total freak. And that spice took over the whole room. What I'm saying is—"

"He's into me." Stiles' jaw is so slack is practically unhinged. "Derek Hale is really, hugely, super into me. Room-full-of-spice into me."

Erica sighs. "Yes, you idiot."

" _Yes!_ " Stiles jumps from his seat, pumping his fist. "Yes! That is awesome!"

All eyes in the room swing to him. Erica handles her second-hand embarrassment by reminding herself that at least she is pee-free this time.

"Right," Stiles says, face flooding pink. "Crowded cafeteria. Um."

He unfolds his fist, lowers it, sits back down.

The stupid little grin is still alive and twitching when the bell rings minutes later.

 

Nothing much changes, which is slightly disappointing, but— _boys_. Too busy lying about their feelings to realize they don't have to.

The spicy scent is ridiculous, though, and then Boyd confesses some very strange dreams he's been having lately. About... Stiles, he says in a strangled voice. Doing... unexpected... things. Isaac's eyes widen, and Erica puts them out of their misery. "It's okay, boys. It's not a sexual crisis. It's _Derek_."

"Derek," Boyd repeats flatly.

Erica rolls her eyes.

And then Stiles' scent is sharper on Derek, and Derek's sharper on Stiles. Not _fucking_ sharp, but humping-in-a-pool-for-two-hours, apparently, if Derek's pack memories can be trusted at all. And then they're having some stupid conflict because Derek wants to kill something because his sexual tension is just getting out of hand and he needs to let off some steam, and because he doesn't want anyone else to die, apparently, but there's no such thing as good intentions when you kill someone who isn't actually an evil lizard monster.

As usual, Erica is the only sensible person in the world, because even Stiles gets in on the cockfight, pushing Allison to shoot Derek. And Erica does not care about him, but he is her Alpha, and a scattered group of Betas would be fucking useless on their own. Especially this group. Derek hasn't been super-successful at training them.

She needs to find a competent Alpha and get Derek demoted. Soon.

After the rave, Erica dreams of putting her hands on Stiles' shoulders, of holding him in place and saying _Wait_. Or _Stay here_. Or _Be careful_. Or _You're mine_. Dreams of his grin when he says, _I did something_! Of the younger boy (the older boy) being so close and so happy and not even a little bit scared of him.

(Of _her_. Fuck, this pack bond thing is getting out of hand.)

When Derek gets back from a typical night of fighting the kanima and humping Stiles, the spicy dark scent is so thick Erica can barely breathe. "You need to make a move," she tells him as he unlocks her torture crown. He flashes her a dark look and manages a half-growl, but his shoulders slump into something like _I know_ as he slinks off (to a long cold shower, probably). She rubs her head and rolls her eyes. "How did you control yourself?" she calls after him. "The full moon and whatever this is? How angry _are_ you?"

He turns around for that. His eyes are dark.

"She burned my family alive," he spits. "I had five brothers. I had _parents_. I have enough anger in me? To last forever."

"Then why did you say it like a question?"

He doesn't answer.

 

Boyd and Erica have a plan. It's a terrible plan, but Derek is a terrible Alpha, so they're fucked either way. Boyd thinks they should run. Look for another pack. There's a battle coming and no reason Erica and Boyd have to be part of it. Isaac's on the fence, but Erica's pretty much been thinking the same thing for the past month. Something needs to change.

When they tell Derek, he's a kicked puppy, feigning anger and failing. He shouts warnings (" _You're running. And once you start running, you can't stop. You'll always be running_."), acts like he's some kind of expert, but he smells like fear, like abandonment, like self-pity, and Erica is so fucking sick of his incompetence. So you didn't want this. So you have a sad history. You suck it up. You figure it out.

You don't walk blind when you've got three kids following behind you.

Erica's fifteen and she knows that. How old is he, that he doesn't know that?

So she runs, Boyd runs. They run together, towards the sound of wolves.

 

They end up strung up like marionettes, gagged and powerless and terrified out of their minds in the Argents' basement.

When Stiles topples down the stairs, his scent is a relief. There's a ripple of fear hovering over his normal Stiles smell, but it's buried under a mountain-sized weight of anger and resentment and fight, and Erica just _knows_ he'll save them. That's what he does, right? Saves everyone?

Boyd isn't as sure. His primary smell is still fear.

Erica has never wanted to hold someone's hand so badly in her life.

Stiles finds a light, and then he finds them, and then he tries untying them, because he's an idiot who can't see the wires right in front of his fucking face and oh god she's going to die. Oh god Boyd's going to die, oh god oh god oh god. He flinches at the electricity and then the old man is back, his stupid evil warble-wheeze of words still going, and the two of them have an incredibly stupid conversation about Scott's sniffing abilities, and then the old man is hitting Stiles, hitting him hard, and Erica can smell blood, and Stiles' fear gets sharper and sharper, blocks out everything else. Boyd is crying silently beside her, and Erica hates Derek, hates him, hates him.

Stiles is unsteady on his feet when he's dragged up at last, and there are tears shining in the bags under his eyes. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't even look at them. Erica's already given up on him.

Allison's father lets them go with some stupid meaningful dramatic speech, and Boyd drags Erica into a hug as soon as they're out in open air again. She shakes against him, mutters something that doesn't matter, and then they're hand in hand and running as fast as they can.

 

That night, lips warm against Boyd's collarbone, his fingers in her tangled blonde hair, Erica dreams of boys in Jeeps, of black blood, of lizards turning to wolves, of someone saying something about the power of human love. She dreams of bruised cheeks and split lips and the old man screaming "Mountain ash!" and Scott saying "You're an Alpha, just not my Alpha," and sleepily considers joining Scott's pack somehow. But he's an idiot too, they all are. She and Boyd are better off alone.

She dreams of wanting to take his pain and holding back because even anger won't keep him in control anymore. She dreams of sending Isaac instead, of watching from a distance and breathing sharp relief when Stiles gives his first slight smile of the night. She dreams of hunting Gerard—the old man is called Gerard—of all the possible ways to make him hurt before he finally shudders out that last breath.

She dreams about holding Stiles and swearing to him, swearing he'd be safe, protected, and she knows it's a lie. Derek can't do that. Derek can't even protect himself. She dreams of sliding careful human fingers over his bruises, of kissing the pain and the anger and the fear away.

She wakes up to Boyd's lips in her hair, and she forgets all her dreams.

 

Derek's wrong. They stop running.

 

Someday, far away from Beacon Hills, she'll have dreams of Stiles, an older Stiles, wrapping his arms around her and saying, "We were idiots. What were we waiting for?" and replying in a voice she knows isn't her own, "I have no idea."

The kiss after that will be soft and careful and controlled, and the one after that will be sharp and rough and raw and endless, and his lips will be bruised purple and he'll smell exactly like both of them, and he'll nip Stiles' jaw and lean his head into the crook of Stiles' neck and moan, "I really have no idea."

She'll stir in her sleep, and Boyd's arms will tighten around her, and the dreams after that will be her own.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as highwaytohoech.


End file.
